Destination
by gothpandaotaku
Summary: Mary's back from the dead, Sam's missing (and apparently pregnant), and Dean's head is spinning.
1. Chapter 1

**Hola! Here with another wincest story! Contains: Wincest, bottom sam and top dean, pregnant sam, angsty fluff, fluff, spn spoilers, MARY FUCKING WINCHESTER, and chuck/amara if you squint.**

 **Hope ya enjoy the ride~**

* * *

" _Mom?"_

No. It couldn't be. No way. It was just a trick of the eyes, or something.

Dean blinked.

She was still there.

 _Impossible._

But there she was, staring at him with furrowed eyebrows _(so much like Sam)_ , obviously confused. Just as beautiful as ever. Her white nightgown gently rustled in the breeze as she took a single step forward. Instinctively, he took a step back.

"D-Dean? What's going on? Why am I here? I was—I was just…"

The voice he hadn't heard in thirty-three years hadn't changed one bit, still sounded like lullabies and wind chimes and laughter.

"Wait, you know who I am?" if— _if—_ this truly was Mom, if Amara had really brought her back, then the Dean she would know would be a four year-old little boy. Not a grown-ass man.

She smiled, a soft, reassuring smile, and Dean could _feel_ all of his defenses falling one by one. His hunter's training was screaming at him to do something about the threat, but he was paralyzed. "I've been watching over you two, when I can. You boys sure get into a lot of trouble." She shook her head fondly, like a much put-upon mother, and slowly reached out a hand to cup Dean's cheek.

"Mom?" Dean whispered, voice breaking.

"It's me, honey. It's really me."

And then she was hugging him, and he was melting into her arms. God, he didn't remember her being so small. He breathed in her familiar scent, vanilla and rosemary, deep into his lungs, and he knew.

 _This was his mother._

They hugged for an indeterminable amount of time, it felt like hours but was probably minutes, until she gently pulled away. Dean bit his lip, something was nagging him in the back of his mind.

"What is it?" Mary asked, looking _up_ at him, and wasn't that the strangest feeling.

"It's just, uh, um, you see—" Dean fingered the silver knife strapped to his side.

"Hand it over."

Dean did as asked, more than a little confused and anxious, and watched as Mary cut across her palm in one smooth motion. "Ho—Mom, what was that?"

She rolled her eyes, and again Dean was reminded of Sam. "See? No reaction. I'm me."

Oh yeah. Mom was a hunter.

"So, where's Sammy?"

* * *

The first thing that registered was the burning pain in his thigh. Heaven shouldn't be this painful, and it wasn't painful _enough_ for Hell. He could smell the sharp, citrusy tang of cleaning products, so he wasn't in the empty either. Which meant… Shit.

He was still alive.

Sam chanced peeking an eye open. As he suspected, he was alone. Unexpectedly, he was in a brightly lit, stark white room that appeared spotless. Sitting up, he could see a sink in the corner with a tiny cupboard underneath, a plastic chair next to a matching tiny plastic table, and a door that lead to an equally white bathroom, complete with toilet and shower. Huh. This was definitely the nicest prison cell he'd ever been in, at least.

But goddammit, if only he had a dollar for every time he got shot and kidnapped.

"This is getting old," Sam muttered to himself, simply because the eerie quiet was getting to him. There was absolutely no sound in the room, not even a hum; he wondered if the room was soundproofed. His thigh screamed in protest when he put weight on his leg, slowly standing up so he could get a better look around, but the pain was manageable enough. He looked down at himself to see a thick bandage wrapped around the bullet wound. _Thoughtful kidnappers,_ Sam snorted. Not only that, but he was dressed in all-white (he was sensing a theme here) outfit, not unlike the one he wore during his stay at the mental facility a few years back.

The whole thing gave him the creeps.

Sam limped over to the bathroom and relieved himself, disappointed to see there wasn't a mirror in there. A quick assessment of the room showed that the room's Spartan theme meant there was literally nothing to use as a weapon. The cheap plastic chair and table hardly weighed anything. He found a box of cereal, protein bars, and bottles of water in the cupboard, which meant…

They intended to keep him here for a while.

 _Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit._

Lowering himself back down onto his cot, Sam rested his head in his hands and tried to bite back the panic threatening to overwhelm him. When the woman, apparently from the British chapter of the Men of Letters, had pulled a gun on him, he honestly hadn't given a fuck whether he lived or died. If she fired and it happened to kill him, _oh well_.

He rubbed a hand over his still flat stomach. Sure, he's carrying precious cargo, but without Dean… what was the point?

What was the point of anything?

* * *

Dean's head buzzed with the two words Sam had whispered into the crook of his neck just moments before they said what they thought were their final goodbyes, just barely loud enough for Dean to hear.

 _I'm pregnant._

In an instant, those two words had irrevocably forever changed his life. Every instinct, every fiber of his being, _ached_ to call the whole thing off. To have even just one more moment with Sam and their… their _baby_. Holy shit. He was going to be a father.

But just as quickly, he knew he couldn't stay. He _needed_ to defeat Amara, so that Sam and the baby could live on. And he was okay with that, sacrificing himself, if it meant that his family would be okay. He would give anything to be with them, _(them!)_ but he knew in his bones that it had to be done. Sam's confession had strengthened his resolve. Before, he was doing it for the sake of the world, but now… now he was doing it for his _family._

And then somehow, amazingly, Judgement Day was called off. He'd actually managed to play counselor to Amara and Chuck. For once, talking things out had actually worked. Sam would get a kick out of that.

Holy shit. Sam. Sam was pregnant. And Dean was going to live to see it through. Holy fucking shit, he was going to be a father!

…how the actual fuck was he going to explain that to _Mom_ though?

Dean immediately decided he was _not_ going to open that can of worms at the moment and do what he does best: deny, deny, deny and leave the problem for another day. Maybe Sam's big ol geek boy brain could come up with a good explanation.

Thoughts buzzed around in Dean's head, lightning-quick and never letting up. He didn't have to pull a Kamikaze, God and Amara were on vacation together, Mom was back from the dead, and Sam was pregnant. He felt like he was going to burst with all the new information. So to calm himself down, as he and Mary walked out of the forest to find a car to 'borrow' to get them home, he told Mary all about Sam. He told her stories, anecdotes, what he liked, what he didn't, anything and everything.

* * *

"-And he's so smart, Mom, _so smart_. One time he managed to figure out it was a witch from just one look at a piece of paper!"

Mary laughed, thoroughly enjoying her son's accounts of the time she missed. But even more than that, she enjoyed the joy clearly on Dean's face, how much _he_ was enjoying telling them. Gesticulated wildly, frequently using his hands to illustrate what he meant, and sometimes he would drop his voice low in what she assumed was a poor imitation of Sam's, all with a blinding smile on his face. It was obvious just how much he loved his little brother.

"Oh, Mom, you're going to love him, I can't wait for you to meet him, he even has your eyes, and he looks just like you when you roll them-"

"I feel like I know him already," she smiled at him as he launched into another story. Even after they found a beat up old bronco to 'borrow' (that Mary hotwired herself, thank you very much) and on the journey back to what he called 'The Batcave' Dean never stopped talking. With each new story, Mary's anticipation to meet her youngest son grew. The tiny, beautiful baby she'd held in her arms what felt like yesterday was now a full-grown man, that she fully intended to get to know with her second chance at life, like she should have the first time.

It didn't take long to reach their destination. She was surprised when they pulled up to an inconspicuous entrance built into the ground of what appeared to be an abandoned building, but Dean was whistling as he rifled through his keys, so apparently this was where her sons called home.

"Sam's not gonna believe this," Dean said with a grin so wide it took up half his face. He opened the door and strode in, calling out "Sammy! I'm home! Sammy! You're not going to _believe_ who's-"

The moment Dean reached the bottom of the stairs he froze. Mary followed behind him, watching as he stared at the ground in front of him with rigid shoulders. "Dean? What's wrong?"

And then she reached the stairs and saw all the blood. A thick trail of it, right in the middle of the floor, where someone was obviously dragged.

The low, guttural, desperate cry of "SAM!" that escaped from her son's throat was enough to give Mary nightmares.

Dean took off running through the bunker, screaming Sam's name. Mary heard doors slam, furniture thrown, and cries of "Sam, this isn't funny. Come on. Sam!"

He returned, empty-handed and anxiously running his hands through his already mussed up hair. The desperation, worry, and fear emanating from him were practically palpable. "Mom, he's gone, he's gone, someone—something must have took him-"

"Hey, hey," Mary stepped forward and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, "It's okay, we're gonna get him back."

"—We need to find him, he's pregnant, we _need_ to find him, oh god-"

She blinked, momentarily stunned despite herself, but shook her head. Now wasn't the time for questions, not when one was missing and the other was falling apart right in front of her. "Dean, listen to me." When Dean refused to meet her eyes and continued his frantic pacing, she grabbed the sides of his head and forced him to look at her. "Listen to me. We are going to get your brother back. _No matter what it takes._ First things first, we need to figure out who or what took Sam, and we need a plan."

Because she did _not_ come back from the dead only to have her son taken from her. _No one_ hurt her children and got away with it.

No one.

* * *

It had been _hours_ since he'd first woken up in the White Room (as he'd quickly taken to calling it) and _nothing_ had happened. No guards, no villians to taunt him, nothing. It was _boring_ , frankly. If his kidnappers were so nice to give him his own personal shower, couldn't they have left a magazine or something? So, with no other option, Sam had taken to talking to the tiny, infinitesimal, practically nonexistent bump in his belly. If he squinted, his middle looked a little less flat and defined than it used to, so whatever. Mostly, he just complained. Complained about the lack of entertainment, books, food, and the unfairness of it all. About the unfairness of his life in general, really. Figured he'd let the kid know what it was in for early, not that he thought there was much of a future for either of them.

But sometimes…. Sometimes he talked about Dean. About the color of his eyes, and how he hoped the kid got them, instead of his own weird, murky hazel. About what a _hero_ he was, how _strong_ he was, how its other daddy could do anything he set his mind to, even if that thing was stupid, dangerous, or stupidly dangerous.

Sam's breathe hitched, catching in his throat, making it hard to breathe. A keening, almost like a wounded animal, filled the room, and he tried to look for the source but he couldn't see through the tears. It took him several moments to realize it was emanating from _him._

 _Dean was dead._

 _Gone._

 _This time he wasn't coming back._

Curling up into a ball in a corner of the cot, Sam prayed that this time, he didn't either.


	2. Chapter 2

Working with his mother was… strange.

It was _nothing_ like working with his father. Mary was the polar opposite of John, taking her time investigating the scene where Sam was taking, looking for any clues left behind, no matter how small. She read through file after file after file in the Men Of Letters library. Nothing escaped her attention, the fire in her eyes. It wasn't a burning, all-encompassing rage like the fire that was once behind his father's eyes; no, this was a calm, calculated fire waiting for _just the right moment_ to destroy everything in its path.

Somehow, it was oddly comforting. The fire in his mother's eyes, the raw determination to _get Sammy back_ was the only thing keeping him sane. That, and the fact that Sam was likely still alive—there had been blood, but not enough to be fatal. Which meant someone had probably wanted information, and took Sam to get it. Revenge was another option, he supposed, although most of their enemies were already dead.

The whole kidnap-Sam-while-Dean-isn't-looking thing didn't smell like Crowley at all; it wasn't his style (not enough boasting and monologing). It didn't feel like Rowena either, she would have run for the hills as soon as it was safe. So in all likelihood, they were facing a new enemy.

Great. Just great. Literally five minutes after they save the world from The Darkness, things go to shit.

They didn't talk much during their long hours of work, but it was a comfortable, easy silence. Watching Mary hunched over a file trying to find something that could possibly make it past each and every one of the Bunker's many defenses, brows furrowed in concentration, oblivious to everything else around her… Dean never realized how much Sam was like their mother, until this moment. He used to think Sam was exactly like their father, but Sam had changed so much over the years, it didn't feel entirely accurate anymore.

Shaking his head, Dean threw down the file he'd been skimming through and rubbed at his tired eyes. This was useless. They didn't even know what the hell they were looking for.

Sam was so much better at this research shit than he was.

"I think we need some help."

* * *

He had no idea how long it took, but eventually, something changed. After what felt like days of being curled up in a ball on the cot, not moving, not thinking, just existing, Sam _heard_ something. A beep, a click, like a lock turning, and suddenly a portion of the wall across from the cot was shifting to reveal a small screen. Curious, Sam stood from his place at the cot to peer at the blank screen. The moment he did, the screen glowed to life, a woman appearing. Immediately, he recognized her as the woman who shot him.

"Hello Sam Winchester."

Sam narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"We have been watching you. Shortly from the moment your brother retrieved you from Stanford, we have been in the shadows, _watching_." When that failed to get a rise out of him, the woman continued, "I suppose you would like to know why you're here?"

He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of reacting in any way, but he supposed she saw in his eyes the burning desire for some answers, because yes, Sam very much wanted to know _what the fuck he was doing here_. "You are here because you must be tried before the Council for your transgressions."

" _What_ transgressions?" Sam snapped, unable to hold himself back. "Saving the world half a dozen times over while you guys sat on your asses, twiddling your thumbs?"

The woman didn't appear phases however, instead smirking, clearly pleased she had managed to get him to react. "You will be held in this cell until further notice. Make yourself comfortable. And Sam? We'll be watching."

* * *

"So let me get this straight. You're friends with… _an angel?_ As in, a real, actual angel?"

"Yup."

Mary blinked. "Okay…" she said, although it sounded like she still didn't completely believe him.

"It takes some getting used to," Dean chuckled, used to people's skepticism by now. "You'll believe it when you see it."

Stepping further out into the library, Dean cleared his throat dramatically and said, "Castiel, I'd appreciate it if you could bring your feathery ass over here cause I could really use some help, Sam's go-"

"Where is Sam?"

Mary practically jumped out of her skin. "Who the hell are you?!"

"Mom, this is Castiel, a friend of ours. Cas, this is-"

"Mary Winchester, wife and soulmate of John Winchester, and your mother, I know. I believe you said something about Sam?"

"Nice to see you too," Dean snorted. "Aren't you even a little bit surprised to see that I'm still alive?"

"Of course I am. Can't you tell?"

Dean stared at Castiel's utterly blank face, wondering if it was his lame attempt at a joke. After several moments of Castiel's creepy blinking, he realized the angel was completely serious.

"…Right. Anyway. Sam's gone missing, and we have no idea who took him."

Castiel sighed heavily. "I look away for _one_ second… How you two so consistently manage to find trouble will never cease to amaze me."

"That's another thing, Cas, why _weren't_ you watching Sam, like I had asked you to in my _dying wish?_ "

"When I felt God's presence disappear, of course I went to investigate. He was _dying,_ Dean."

"And for all we know, Sam could be too," Dean growled. "When we got back to the Bunker, there was a _trail_ of blood, and Sam was _gone_. Nice job there, _guardian angel_."

Castiel's eyes widened minutely, the angel's equivalent of his jaw dropping. Dean had very rarely spoken to him with such venom in his voice, such _hate_ in his eyes. But Dean was sick of Castiel's promises to have their back, only to consistently leave them in the wind.

"Dean, I had no idea-"

"Whatever. Are you going to help us or not?"

"Of course I am."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had no idea how long he'd been locked in the cell, but he was beginning to lose it a little. The stark white room combined with his white uniform reminded him of when he'd been put in the psychiatric hospital, slowly going insane from hallucinations of Lucifer.

White.

Everything was white.

His clothes, his shoes. The walls. The carpet. The tile. The plastic table and chair. Even the tiny nook that acted as a pantry was painted an ungodly shade of white.

With each passing second, he was growing to hate it more and more. Each day he lay on his (white) cot, silently despising the color. It wasn't _even_ a color! It was the fucking _absence_ of color!

So one morning when he was tired of his stomach trying to eat itself and the constant growling, he fixed himself some cold oatmeal (no way to heat it up). He sneered at the brown slop in the disposable white plastic bowl, with a white plastic spoon.

Irritated, Sam launched the bowl across the room, where it hit the wall and landed on the ground with barely a sound. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he'd thought it be. At least he'd stained the pristine white carpet, he mused, looking at the oatmeal splattered all over the wall and carpet.

The newly _brown_ carpet.

* * *

Toni Bevell stalked into the command center, high heels clacking on the shining linoleum alerting everyone to look up from their monitors and stand at attention.

"We are moving Cellmate #WS-001 to HQ at 0800 hours. Be prepared. Now get back to work."

"Yes Ma'am," they said in unison and went back to watching said cellmate.

* * *

"Okay, is everyone ready? Remember the plan?"

"Yes. You and Mary go in ahead of me and get rid of the angel warding, we 'kill as many of those mofos as possible', and we save Sam."

Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel's quoting and rechecked his ammo supply for the tenth time. There was no margin for error on this one, they were getting Sam _out_ or die trying. He saw Mary do the same, body tense and ready for a fight, every inch the hunter she used to be.

"Let's rock and roll."

* * *

Sam sighed and rolled over on the bed, hands instinctively moving to rest on the teeny tiny bump of his stomach. Over the few weeks he'd been here, he'd just barely started to pop. He wondered what Dean would think of it. He'd probably tease him about having a beer gut or something, "Packing on the pounds, eh Sammy?" but he'd want to touch it all the time, and he'd probably kiss it and talk to it when he thought Sam was sleeping…

He swallowed the lump in his throat and rolled over, preferring to live in a world where that could happen, fantasy as it was, than the one he was currently stuck in.

 _Beep Beep_

Sam scrambled off the bed and to his feet as a portion of the wall pulled apart to reveal two burly men dressed in military-like clothing. They rushed Sam, each one grabbing one of his arms and pulling them behind his back. One of the men reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. So they were moving him.

The door was still open.

Sam smirked.

He'd been waiting for this.

While the guy on his right was still fumbling with the handcuffs Sam subtlely turned towards his left and kicked out with both feet, kicking Goon #1 in the face so that he stumbled back and hit his head against the headboard of the bed on the way down.

"Backup! We need Ba-" Goon #2 yelled, until Sam punched him in the face, knocking him out and his breaking his nose in the process.

 _Beep Beep_

The wall, or door within a wall or whatever the fuck it was, was closing. Shit! Sam dashed for the door, trying to pry it open just a little more so that he could slip through. A sweet smell suddenly filled the room, assaulting his nose with its _sickingly_ sweet smell, so sweet it was sharp. Fuck, they were gassing him out. He tried to hold his breath, but his body was so heavy and—

* * *

Surprisingly, the building wasn't heavily guarded.

Dean entered from the front entrance and Mary from the back, just a simple four-digit code that they easily got from observing a couple member come and go was all they needed. Upon gaining access to the building Dean grabbed the first sucker he saw, making coffee in what appeared to be a break room or something, and put his very loaded gun against his head.

"Okay, this is how it's going to go. You are going to tell me where my brother is, within the next five seconds, and maybe, just maybe, I don't blow your brains out. Sound good?" Slowly, he removed his hand from over the guys mouth.

"D-D-Dean Win-Winchester? They said you'd come."

"Two seconds," Dean growled.

"South Wing, Cell #145."

"Good answer." Dean slammed the butt of his gun against his head and the goon fell limp to the floor.

The Men of Letters British Chapter was more accommodating than he'd anticipated, with handy signs on the walls showing him exactly where he needed to go. How helpful! Along the way he broke any anti-angel sigils he found, usually on the wall or the floor. If everything went to plan, Mary would be doing the same and Castiel would be able to get inside the building any minute. When they didn't quite know what they were going up against, having an angel on your side could be mighty useful.

"Who the hell are you?" A deep voice yelled from behind him.

"Well, you see, I'm-" He whipped around and shot the goon point-blank in the chest.

They took Sam.

There was no room for mercy.

Every goon unfortunate enough to get in his way met with the same fate. Thankfully the silencer on his gun did its job, but he bet any second now reinforcement would come knocking on the door. There had to be security cameras all over the place.

"Dean."

Castiel appeared in front of Dean, causing him to fire his gun, Castiel dodging out of the way.

"Dammit Cas! You're making me waste bullets!"

"Where is Sam?"

"If the goon I caught and interrogated is to be believed, South Wing Cell #145."

Dean blinked and suddenly the angel was gone. "Cas what?-"

"Found him," Castiel said, appearing before Dean again and placing a finger on his forehead. Dean's stomach churned and suddenly he was in front of… a wall?

"There's nothing here, Cas? What the hell?"

"Sam is behind this wall. I'll get rid of it." Castiel's eyes glowed a shocking blue and the right side of the wall exploded.

"Nice," Dean grinned.

 _WEEEEEE WOOOOO WEEEEEEE WOOOOOOO WEEEEEEE WOOOOOO_

"What the hell kind of alarm is that?" Dean grumbled as he stepped through the smoke and rumble and into the room where Sam supposedly was. Either way, it meant their time was up. "Sam? Sam?" Dean looked around the dark room and almost didn't see Sam sprawled on the floor against the wall, mere inches away from the blast.

"SAM!" Dean ran to his brother and gently turned him over, checking for injuries. He found none, but the slight swell to Sam's stomach had him blinking back tears. The baby. He'd almost forgotten about the baby. Was the baby going to be okay? Sam appeared to only be sleeping, there was a sickeningly sweet smell in the air that might have something to do with that. But what if they'd done things to Sam he couldn't see? He held Sam in his arms and stroked his hair. "Hey Sammy, I'm here. I got you. It's okay." The tightness in his chest that had been there since the moment he'd stepped foot into the Bunker and seen a puddle of blood and no little brother, released.

He could finally breathe again.

"Dean, I hate to break apart this touching reunion, but we need to go." He tore his gaze away from Sam and looked up, hearing the thumping of many pairs of boots heading in their direction.

"Right. Where's Mom?"

"Right here. How's Sam?" Mary said, walking into the room at a fast pace, but stopping in her tracks at the sight of her youngest son. She sucked in a sharp breath and simply stood there holding it in for several moments before letting it out in a shaky exhale. She moved forward on equally shaky legs, as if she wasn't sure they could support her weight. She dropped to her knees to be level with Dean, gaze never leaving Sam's face.

"This… This is my baby?" Mary murmured. She swallowed heavily and reached out a hand tentatively, only to pull it back, like she was afraid.

"It's okay, Mom." Dean said quietly.

With trembling hands, Mary reached out again and touched her son for the first time in over twenty years. She traced the line of his jaw and stroked his hair, surprisingly soft. "He looks like your father," she said, and Dean saw that she was crying.

"We need to go NOW." Castiel barked.

"Right. Upsy daisy, Sammy boy," Dean shifted Sam in his arms and attempted to pick him up, only to almost collapse under his weight. "Holy shit, what the hell have they been feeding you?" The baby, that's right, the extra weight was because of the baby, even if Sam's face looked a lot thinner than he remembered, he'd still gained a little baby weight. And he didn't want to do a fireman's carry precisely because of the baby…

Grunting and muscles straining, Dean picked Sam up again and made it to his feet this time (even if his legs were shaking).

"Dean, let me-"

"I got him, I got him," Dean growled. He didn't want to lose contact with Sam right now, couldn't _bare_ to. "Just. Take us back to the car. _Now_."

Castiel laid a hand on both Mary and Dean's shoulders and there they were, mere inches from the Impala.

"Bout damn time," Dean muttered. Castiel saw him struggling to hold on to Sam's weight and hurriedly opened the door, Dean gently laying Sam down on the bench seat as best he could. "Someone's obviously going to have sit back there with him, keep an eye on him. I-"

"I'll do it," Mary volunteered, already climbing into the car and placing Sam's head in her lap with utmost care.

"But…" _Dean_ should be the one comforting him right now. Sam _needed_ him. What if he woke to find his head in his dead mother's lap? That was the kind of mindfuck that could seriously screw him up and bring back memories.

"Dean, we don't have time for this," Mary said firmly, and _okay_ , that was a Mom Voice if he'd ever heard one. But she was right, they needed to get the hell out of dodge. Dean started the car, shifted gear, and put the pedal to the floor.

Thank god (well, Chuck) that the Men of Letters hadn't left the county yet. He couldn't imagine a plane ride while feeling this stressed and panicked, and without Sam there to calm him down.

In the rearview mirror, Dean saw Mary tenderly stroking Sam's hair.

* * *

The drive home took nine hours and three bathroom/snack breaks. Sam didn't make a peep through any of it.

Again Dean refused to let anyone else help him carry Sam inside. He placed Sam in his own room, deciding it would be easier (and he didn't think he could stand to be separated from his brother for a second longer). That wasn't that weird, right? Right?

Thankfully everyone agreed that it was best to just let Sam sleep it off and not crowd him, so everyone left them alone. Try as he might, after six hours of keeping watch, Dean couldn't stop himself from falling asleep in the chair by Sam's bedside.

The shifting of bed covers woke him up.

Dean's eyes snapped open, prepared for a threat. Instead he saw Sam shifting around in the bed, making little noises that Dean had always thought made him sound like a cute little puppy. Sam did this whenever he was waking up from a particularly deep sleep. Dean guessed he had about… ten seconds until Sam opened his eyes.

Right on the dot, Sam blinked and opened bleary eyes. Wanting to be the first thing he saw, Dean hovered over him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said quietly, a small smirk on his face. How happy would Sam be to see him? Chuck knew Dean's own heart was threatening to jump out of his chest at finally, _finally_ seeing his brother's hazel eyes again. He could spend hours just staring into them, mapping out every color, and promised to do that soon as they got the chance. They saved the world again, they deserved a break didn't they?

But Sam didn't smile, or cry, or throw himself into Dean's arms or do any of the things Dean expected.

He didn't say anything.

He ignored Dean.

He looked away, as if he hadn't even seen him.

"Sammy? What's wrong? We're home, we're at the Bunker. It's okay, I got you out." Dean whispered, knowing Sam didn't like loud noises when he wasn't feeling well. He reached out a hand and placed it on Sam's shoulder—

Sam let out a sharp gasp and backed away as far he could from Dean. Still, he refused to look at Dean.

"Okay, okay, no touching. Got it. Sam, it's me. Dean. Talk to me. Are you hurt?" Dean threw up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture and backed away a little himself, not wanting to scare Sam. Something was obviously wrong, and alarm bells were going off in his head.

Sam continued to pretend he didn't exist and peered around the room with a frighteningly blank expression. His eyes looked… dead.

"Sam, you're scaring me. Please say something."

Instead Sam got off the bed and stumbled on shaky legs towards the door. He didn't make it far, legs giving out beneath him halfway there, and still Sam didn't so much as utter a peep or even change his expression. His face was just blank. So blank. Luckily Dean was there to catch him, but when he did, Sam immediately started thrashing around to get away.

"Sam, calm down! It's me! It's Dean, okay, it's me, it's _Dean_." Dean held on through Sam's weak attempts at escape, murmuring in his ear ' _it's okay, big brother's here, big brother's here.'_ After about a minute he heard Sam mumbling something back. It took another moment for him to realize what it was.

"It's not real, not real, not real, not real."

"Oh Sammy. Baby," Dean kissed Sam's forehead and ignored Sam's renewed thrashing. "This is real, I'm real, it's all real. I'm really here with you. I got you out, okay? I got you out." It wasn't easy, but it wasn't as hard as it should have been to pry open Sam's fist and find the slightly raised crescent-shaped scar on his palm and put pressure on it. As much pressure as he could without breaking the skin enough to bleed.

Sam gasped and practically went limp, breath coming short and fast. But he let Dean do it. And for the first time, he _looked_ at Dean. The zombie-like look in his eyes was gone, with replaced with the dewy puppy eyes of the boy he raised.

"D-De?" Sam whispered.

"Hey, Baby Boy. It's me. It's okay, I'm here, I got you out, I got you out Baby, Shhhhhh," he cooed. Normally he wouldn't do this, but when his little brother threw himself into his arms and sobbed into his neck, arms wrapped around him like a vice, how could he _not_?

Eventually, when Sam calmed down, Dean carried Sam back to bed and laid down with him, wrapping Sam up in his arms. As usual Sam did his octopus routine, entangling his limbs with Dean's, but this time there was a desperation to Sam's clinging that broke Dean's heart. He could hear his little brother's heart beating, fast and anxious.

Quietly, Dean started to hum a nameless tune.

Almost instantly he could feel the tension leave Sam's body. Sam's breathes evened out where his face was buried in Dean's neck. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he murmured, "Hey Dean?"

"Hmmm?"

"Is someone else here? Besides Cas?"

Dean chuckled. "Psychic Boy makes a comeback, eh?"

Sam merely grunted in response. They both knew it was a lifetime of hunter's training and instincts that had alerted Sam's subconscious that someone else was in the Bunker.

"But yeah, someone else is here."

"Wh's it?" Sam slurred, already half asleep.

"A friend."

"Mkay."

"Goodnight, Bitch."

" 'Night Jerk."


	4. Chapter 4

"The Baby!" Sam shot up in bed, gasping for air and clutching at his middle. Oh god, the Baby, _the Baby_. How could he have forgotten about it, for even a second? Was it okay? The last thing he remembered before the Bunker was being gassed in the white room. What if the gas had hurt the baby? The damn kid hadn't even been born yet and already he proved to be a terrible parent.

"Sam? Whas goin' on?" Dean mumbled and sat up, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. Any other time Sam would marvel at his brother's astoundingly adorable bedhead, but right now he was on the verge of outright panicking.

"The-The Baby. I—I, _I forgot about the fucking Baby_. What kind of parent does that? I don't even know if it's okay, what if it got hurt when they sedated me, what if-"

"Hey, hey, calm down. Deep breaths okay?" Dean waited a moment for Sam to take a few deep breaths. When he saw the panic in his eyes recede a little, he continued, "The Baby is perfectly fine. Cas checked you out from top to bottom soon as we got out of that place. Healthy as can be. Nothing to worry about."

Letting out a heavy sigh of relief, Sam flopped back onto the pillows. "Oh thank God."

"You mean, 'thank Chuck'?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

"And you're not a terrible parent. There's no way you ever could be, even if you wanted to. For one, you were _fucking shot and kidnapped_ by those British sons of bitches, so it's no wonder you had other things on your mind."

"I guess. And…"

"And?"

"And I thought you were dead," Sam whispered. "I couldn't—I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I couldn't _feel_ without you, not even for the Baby."

"Oh, Sammy." Dean opened his arms and Sam practically leapt into them, burying his face in the crook of Dean's shoulder, his favorite place to be, he'd once said. "I'm here, I'm alive. You feel my heartbeat, don't you?"

Sam nodded. "You never told me what happened? After we said goodbye?"

"Ah, that. Well, basically, Chuck and Amara just needed some couples therapy. We met, we talked, and Amara realized she just… really wanted her brother back, not the destruction of the world. Oh, and before I forget, apparently we're in charge of keeping the world safe while Chuck and Amara are on vacation. So there's that."

"… _what?_ "

"Yup."

"I'm just… Yeah, I'm just not gonna think about that right now."

Dean snorted. "I'm right there with you, brother."

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, Sam almost drifting back to sleep, when Dean asked quietly, "How long have you known? That you're pregnant?"

"Mmmm. Not long. How long was I gone anyway? But I took the test—three of them—the night before you were s'posed to be a bomb."

"It goes to show how strange our lives are that that sentence even makes sense," Sam nodded in response and drowsily kissed Dean's neck. "But wow… we're gonna be parents, Sammy. This is really happening. Holy shit."

"Uh-huh. It's beautiful, frightening, amazing, and terrifying, now can we sleep?"

"You were the one who woke me up in the first place, Bitch."

"Shut up, Jerk."

Sam fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, possibly the best he'd had in years, with warmth and love and safety and security surrounding him, and Dean's palm resting on his swollen stomach.

* * *

"Huh. You do have a little pooch there. Looks kinda like a beer gut."

"Good morning. And our child is not a beer gut."

"Mornin'" Dean patted Sam's stomach and climbed out of bed.

Sam pulled his shirt back down from where Dean had apparently pulled it up while he was sleeping and sat up in bed. There was an excitement in Dean's eyes that he'd never seen before, and it was making him excited too, if a bit nervous. When he'd told Dean he was pregnant, he honestly had no idea how he'd take it. Shocked, definitely. Happy… probably, hopefully. But he still hadn't expected Dean to be… practically glowing. Wasn't Sam supposed to be the one glowing, or whatever? And then the whole, 'Dean has to become a bomb to save the world thing,' and he thought his world was over. Every fiber in his being had ached to die along with Dean, but the little one growing inside him held him back. He couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything at all really, but he couldn't bring himself to end it all, either. Dean wouldn't want him to kill himself, he'd want him to raise their child, so that's what he'd do.

But Dean was alive, the world wasn't ending, and they were going to be parents together. Sam's head was spinning with all the revelations. Just hours ago he was locked in the white room, and now here he was, home and safe.

"Sam? You okay?"

He shook his head, shaking off the thoughts buzzing in his head. "Sorry, zoned out for a sec. It's… it's a lot, you know?"

Dean's expression grew into something practically tender, one Sam knew only he was able to see, and a part of him puffed up with pride. Dean was _his_. The Baby inside him was proof of that. Sam knew he had a bit of a possessive streak when it came to his brother, but it was nothing compared to Dean's. Dean's possessive streak was a fucking highway.

It was then that Sam noticed Dean was carrying a tray in his arms, a tray full of delicious-smelling food, and he was suddenly _starving_. "Breakfast in bed? For me? _Gimme_." Sam made grabby hands and for a moment Dean was reminded of the kid he'd raised, always wanting to be picked up or something or other.

"This? This isn't for you, it's for my Baby Momma," Dean smirked. When faced with Sam's Bitch Face #023, however, he quickly dropped the tray and backed away.

"Baby Momma' my ass," Sam grumbled around a mouthful of delicious pancake."

"Well, I haven't made an honest man out of you yet, so Baby Momma it is-"

"I need to see him!" A woman's voice shouted from behind the closed door to Dean's room. Sam put his tray of food down in confusion.

"Dean, who's-"

"No, I'm sorry but you can't go in there yet-" Castiel's voice, and then the sound of fumbling and the doorknob turning—

The door burst open.

"What the hell Cas, you were supposed to watch her!"

"She is a very strong woman-"

"No one needs to watch me! I just want to see my own son."

The room was full of shouting and pointing fingers and boots thumping on the hardwood floor, but Sam didn't hear any of it. His mind had come to a resounding halt and he couldn't make sense of anything.

Because standing before him was his dead mother.


	5. Chapter 5

"Get out! Everyone just get the hell out!" Sam yelled, practically screamed to be heard over the cacophony of everyone else in the room arguing. The room went dead silent, no one even daring to breathe.

Dean was in shock. He had no idea what he'd been expecting Sam's reaction to seeing Mom would be, but it definitely wasn't this. "Sam, what-"

"GET OUT."

Castiel, Dean, and Mary exited the room fast as their legs could carry them, Sam refusing to even look in Mary's general direction. "Me too?" Dean muttered to himself. Sam slammed the door behind them hard enough that it shifted on its hinges, and locked it. "Hey wait, that's _my_ room!" Dean whined.

"That did not go well," Cas stated.

"No _shit_ Sherlock," Dean groaned. "I thought you were keeping an eye her?"

"No one needs to keep an eye on me," Mary scowled. "…But I suppose that could have been handled better. I'm sorry, I just… I wanted to meet him so bad, I couldn't help myself. It was selfish."

"You're right. Dumping it on him probably wasn't the best idea, but what's done is done." He laid a hand on Mary's shoulder. "Don't worry, he'll come around. He's just really, really confused right now, as he should be. I'll talk to him."

* * *

Sam didn't leave the room for two days.

Dean reasoned, pleaded, begged, yelled, and damn near kicked down the door, but Sam refused to say anything. He brought three square meals a day and left them outside the door, and more often than not they just sat there, but occasionally Dean would come back and the plate of food would be gone. He didn't know how Sam did it, considering he was camped outside Sam's ( _his!_ ) bedroom door as much as physically possible. Sneaky bastard.

"This isn't all an elaborate plot for me to bring you food in bed, is it?" Dean grumbled as he set a hot plate of parmesan-crusted baked chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy on the floor directly in front of the door, sitting down next to it. "You know, you need to eat more. You're eating for two now, Sammy."

Silence.

"Nice talk."

Then finally, an hour later, in the smallest of whispers that was barely audible through the door.

"How?"

Dean breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, silently thanking Chuck. He'd seriously been a few hours away from breaking down the damn door.

"Amara. When I managed to get her and Chuck to talk out their differences, she was… thankful. Told me that since I gave her what she needed, she'd give me what I needed. Apparently that was…Mom."

"So what? She brought her back, just like that? After all these years, she's back?"

"Guess so, kiddo." Dean waited, letting Sam take it all in. He couldn't imagine what was going through his brother's mind. It was probably chaos. Not that he could blame him. His own head was still spinning, dammit. In the space of a few weeks, he'd gone from being resigned to die for the greater good, found out Sam was fucking _pregnant_ , to Amara and Chuck going on vacation, his mother was back from the dead after over thirty years, and Sam was kidnapped.

"You know, it's uh," Dean cleared his throat, "It's okay to be confused right now. You don't have to have all the answers. I get it. Heck, I'm still not even sure how I, how I feel about her being back. But why don't you start by just… talking to her? Just a little?"

"…I don't know how. And what if-"

"What is it, little brother? You know you can tell me."

"What if she doesn't like me?" Sam said in a small voice, sounding so much like the little kid Dean raised it hurt. Only his little brother would be afraid his own mother wouldn't _like_ him.

"Sammy, can I come in please?"

There was no answer, and Dean was five seconds away from kicking that damn door down, when he heard the lock turn. He tried opening the door again, and this time it finally opened.

Sam was curled up in a ball in a corner of Dean's bed, as if he were trying to make himself small. Again, Dean as reminded of Sam as a child, all tiny and dimpled cheeks. Dean climbed onto the bed, curling up behind Sam, relieved when Sam leaned into his body.

"She loves you Sammy, more than anything," Dean whispered, kissing the back of Sam's neck. "She'd do anything for you. She went with us to help take down those British sons of bitches. She could never, ever, hate you, or hold anything against you, or blame you or anything you're thinking right now. She wants to meet you, again, okay? Why don't we get to know her, _together?_ "

"Together? You mean it?" Sam rolled over, facing Dean, their noses bumping together as they breathed the same air.

"Of course, little brother."

Their lips touched, and Sam could already feel the warmth curling low in his belly. It had been so long since…

A knock on the door, "Boys? Can I come in? I want to talk to you, if that's alright?"

Dean _shoved_ Sam away and shot up off the bed like his life depended on it, standing as far away from Sam as physically possible while still being in the room.

Sam was too shocked to say anything.

Mary entered the room, a warm smile on her face that immediately made Sam want to let down his guard.

But.

"I was just wondering… um, are you guys hungry? Do you want some dinner? I was thinking… we could all eat together?"

Dean smiled back. "Yeah, sure that sounds go-"

"I'm not hungry," Sam mumbled, turning so he wasn't facing Mary.

"You need to eat, Sam, it's not just about you anymore," Dean snapped.

" _I said I'm not hungry."_

"What do you mean, it's not just about him anymore?" Mary interjected, genuinely curious tone in her voice. Sam could feel her eyes on him, and he didn't know how to feel about it.

"Sam's pregnant, so he should be eating for two," and great, now Sam could feel Dean glaring holes in the back of his head. He ignored the irritation at having Dean answer for him and stayed silent, morbidly curious to what Mary's reaction would be.

"Oh, that's wonderful! Congratulations, " Mary laughed, and Sam could hear the genuine joy in it. _She doesn't even know me, how can she be so happy for the child of someone she doesn't even know?_ , he thought.

"Sam?"

Sam didn't respond.

"Well, I guess, I'll, uh, go cook something," Mary said quietly, and walked out of the room, Dean following.

Sam didn't say a single word.

* * *

Over the course of the next month Sam got off his ass and started eating right, and even got himself a baby doctor. His first appointment was in a couple days.

Dean still refused to touch him, instead preferring to spend all his time with Mary.

Sam still had yet to really speak to her. He just. Didn't know how. Dean has said they'd get to know her, together, but he seemed to be doing fine all on his own.

It wasn't for lack of Mary's trying. She'd make all of Sam's favorite foods (that she learned from Dean), but Sam rarely made an appearance at the dinner table.

She didn't love him, she loved the baby she'd held in her arms over thirty years ago.

The night before Sam's first appointment, Sam decided to suck it up and eat dinner with everyone else. He wanted to ask Dean if he'd go to the appointment with him tomorrow, and since Dean was wherever Mary was, he didn't have much of a choice. He was going to get an ultrasound. They were finally going to see their baby, and little butterflies had taken up residency in Sam's stomach along with the Baby.

Maybe seeing the Baby would give Dean the push he needed to start taking this seriously.

Mary made a chicken salad, and when it came time to eat, Sam made sure he was as far away from her as possible, while did the exact opposite and sat next to her. Still, throughout the dinner (which was fucking delicious), he couldn't stop himself from glancing at her every five seconds as her and Dean talked about something or other. He was aware he was staring, but thankful Mary hadn't seemed to notice, too wrapped up in her conversation with Dean.

She really was beautiful.

Her eyes were so kind, and so green; he could see where Dean had gotten them from.

For the first time Sam found himself wanting to say… _something_ to her, but the words kept getting caught in his throat. What do you say to your dead mother who'd suddenly been brought back to life? Before he knew it the meal was almost over and everyone was scraping the plate.

"So, Dean, um," shit, he hadn't been planning to ask him like _this_ , "I, uh have a doctor appointment tomorrow. For the baby. They're going to do an ultrasound. So, I was, I was wondering, if you. Wanted. To. Come. With me. If you wanted."

Sam wanted to crawl in a hole and die. This was _Dean_ , why the fuck was he so nervous?

Face bright red, he risked glancing at his brother. He could feel Mary's eyes on him too, but continued looking at Dean. For a moment, he could see the _want_ in Dean's eyes. But it was gone as soon as it appeared, covered up with bravado.

"Sam, I can't stand going to the doctor on a good day when it's _my_ appointment. Why would I want to go to yours? No thanks."

"Yeah, you're right," Sam mumbled, pushing his plate away and getting out of there as fast he could.

He didn't hear Mary yell at Dean in confusion, "What the hell is wrong with you?"


	6. Chapter 6

"What the hell is wrong with you? Go apologize to your brother, _now, Dean_?" Mary snapped and pointed in the direction Sam had gone.

"Whoa, whoa, what do you mean, 'what the hell is wrong with me?' I didn't do anything," Dean said defensively, unaware he sounded exactly like the four year-old Mary remembered.

"You hurt your brother's feelings when you said you wouldn't go to the ultrasound appointment with him. Why would you say something like that? Don't you want to see your baby?"

Dean's heart jumped into his throat and cut off all his oxygen, and any hope of ever breathing again.

"Uh, Dean? You okay? You're looking pretty green…" He could hear her, but her voice sounded it like was coming from the far end of a long tunnel. Dark spots clouded his vision. _She knows she knows she knows—_

"Dean, honey, sit down." Dean vaguely became aware of Mary guiding him into one of the dining chairs. "Breathe with me, okay? Deep breaths, deep breaths. That's it."

After several minutes of deep breathing and Mary's calming voice, Dean's heart was back in its rightful position, but lower than ever before. Somehow she knew, and now she was going to leave. Again. After he'd just gotten her back.

"H-How did you…"

"How did I know that it's your baby too? Honey, you two are soulmates, it wasn't too hard to figure out that you put that baby in Sam's belly. I may have been gone a long time, but I know that still works the same way."

Dean's jaw honest-to-god dropped. "Wha—how—you—what? _What?_ "

"When you're in heaven for awhile, you start to hear things. Those angels couldn't shut up about Sam and Dean Winchester, trying to shut down the apocalypse."

"I'm sorry, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you're alive and know that I knocked up my brother," Dean deadpanned.

Mary chuckled, her laugh sounding so much like Sam's that it hurt.

"But you're, uh, you're okay with it?" he whispered, staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world rather than watch the disgust bloom on her face.

"I'm not going to lie, I was surprised. No mother expects to hear that her sons are… together. But when I thought about it, if you two are soulmates, the way your father and I are, then you must feel the same way about Sam that I feel about your father. And there's nothing wrong with that."

Dean's breath hitched, and he was embarrassed to feel a tear slide down his cheek, and then another, and another. He was full out sobbing when he buried his face in his mother's chest, clinging to her like she was the only thing keeping him together.

"It's okay," he sobbed, "It's okay that I love him? Is it really okay for me to love him?"

"Of course it is. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

Dean pulled away after a few moments, clearing his throat and rubbing his red, puffy eyes. "So… you were with Dad there? How was he?"

"Before or after I punched him in the jaw?"

* * *

Sam went to his appointment first thing in the morning, alone.

He plastered on a fake smile as the doctor spread cold gel on his bare stomach, telling him how excited he should be and how happy a time this supposedly was.

"So, other daddy couldn't make it today?" She asked politely while moving the transducer around, trying to find the baby.

"No, he's not in the picture anymore," Sam replied in a curt tone, trying to ignore the burning in his eyes how true that really was.

"I'm so sorry to hear that." She looked genuinely contrite. Doctor Mila was a kind and sweet woman, not to mention one of the best in the state (Sam had done his research), and he couldn't hold anything against her.

"It's okay."

"I have to say, he doesn't know what he's missing. Look at this little one."

Sam stared at the screen where there was a tiny little blob the doctor was pointing at, and sucked in a sharp, awed breath. "That's my baby?"

"That's your baby."

* * *

The second Sam saw Dean waiting on the edge of the bed when he got home, he knew something was up. Dean had been practically avoiding him for a _month_ , why else would he seek him out but to tell him something important. The final nail in the coffin. The _"Sam, I can't do this anymore."_ The _"Sam, this was never right."_

Sam mentally braced himself. He'd known for a long time that Dean's avoidance was leading up to this, and he thought he was prepared, knew he should consider himself lucky if Dean wanted to have any kind of relationship with him at all. But now that the moment of truth was here, he found himself feeling sick to his stomach.

"What are you doing here?"

"This _is_ my room you know, even if you've… nested in it, or whatever."

Sam acknowledged Dean with a shrug, not trusting himself to speak any more than necessary.

"We need to talk."

And there it was.

He turned away from Dean, pretending to be preoccupied with putting away the folded clothes he'd forgotten about last night. "What's there to talk about?" His voice didn't shake, right? He sounded totally normal? Dean wouldn't suspect that his heart was crumbling away into nothing? "I get it, you're done. That's perfectly _fine_." Sam slammed a drawer so hard it bounced back at him, pissing him off even more. "Everything's _fine_. My baby-"

"Whoa whoa whoa. _Your_ baby? What the hell do you mean, ' _your'_ baby?" Dean snapped, getting off the bed and grabbing Sam's shoulder, forcing him to face him.

"That's right, _my_ baby. _My_ baby will be perfectly fine without-"

"Not _your_ baby, _our_ baby goddammit-"

"You don't even fucking want it!" Sam shouted. When faced with Dean's stunned silence, he continued, "You don't want it anymore, that's fine. I know Mom coming back must have changed a lot for you, made you realize that you don't need me after all. And we'll, we'll be _perfectly fucking fine_ without you."

Sam waited for Dean to say something, anything, shout back at him maybe. He expected anger, at least. But Dean just looked… devastated. He looked like he was about to cry.

"C'mon Dean, say something."

Dean snorted and hurriedly wiped at his eyes. "You want me say something? Fine. _I'm sorry_. I came to apologize for not having your back this past month, I know I haven't, and I'm _sorry_. But is that what you think of me? You think I would just _abandon_ you and our unborn _baby_? Thanks, thanks a fucking lot, Sam. It's nice to know you have such a high opinion of me," Dean spat, venom in his voice.

"What else was I supposed to think?" Sam whispered, hating the way his voice cracked. "You haven't talked to me, not really, in over a _month_. I didn't… I didn't think you _wanted_ me anymore. Or the baby. So I've been preparing myself-"

"Hey, hey, come here." To Sam's surprise, he found himself enveloped in Dean's strong arms. Hard as he tried, he couldn't stop himself from melting into the embrace or the sob escaping his throat.

"I think we all just need to take a few steps back here," Dean said quietly, tightening his grip on Sam. "Okay, so you think I don't want you or the baby anymore because I've been avoiding you this past month, right?" Sam nodded into Dean's shoulder. "But _you_ still want _me_ and the baby, right?"

Sam nodded again and sucked in a sharp breath, confused and yet a little curious where Dean was going with this.

"Oh Sammy, Baby Boy, I'm so sorry for making you think this way. I should have known," Dean whispered, kissing Sam's hair and neck and anywhere he could reach. "Yes, I have to admit, I have been kind of avoiding you. I was just _so scared_ of Mom finding out about us, I didn't know what else to do. Because if she saw the way I look at you, she'd know in an instant. And if she knew, and she was disgusted by me, by _us,_ I'd have to ask her to leave. And… and I didn't want Mom to hate me, you know?"

 _Dean felt the same way he did?_

The whole time, Sam had yet to talk to Mary because he was afraid of what she'd think of him, and it turned out Dean was thinking the same thing?"

"So really, this whole time we've both just wanted Mom to like us?" Sam mumbled into Dean's shoulder.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"We're both idiots."

"Yup."

They shared a chuckle. Sam let himself finally relax in Dean's arms. maybe, just maybe, things could be okay again.

"And Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"I have _never_ wanted anything more in my life than you, and this baby. I could _never_ not want you, little brother. That's any impossibility, because, and I know I don't say this often, and if you ever tell anyone I said this mushy crap I will deny it, _I love you_."

Sam sobbed into Dean's neck, tremors wracking his entire body with the force of it. Dean's soothing voice tried to shush him, calm him down, but he couldn't. He couldn't remember crying like this in his entire life.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Sam regained control of his emotions again. He took his first calm breath in over an hour, wiped his red, puffy eyes, and blushed when he noticed the mess he'd made of Dean's shirt.

"S-Sorry. I think it's the h-hormones."

"It's fine." Dean continued to rub small, comforting circles in Sam's back. Sam's eyes drifted close. "That feels nice."

"Yeah?"

"Mmmhmmm."

Before sleep completely overtook him, Sam found enough energy to murmur "Love you too, Jerk, and you better not forget it."

Dean chuckled. "Love you too, Bitch. Oh, by the way, apparently Momknowsaboutus."

"WHAT?!"

* * *

Sam was horny.

Really, really horny.

Between Dean being a bomb and himself getting kidnapped and Mom coming back, there hadn't been much time for sex. The last time was probably… hell, when the Baby was conceived. He loved his mom, and was so grateful that they'd finally started talking and were developing a real relationship, but it didn't make for the best conditions for a night of wild sex that he really, really, wanted—no, needed—to have.

So when Mary asked them to go out and get some groceries for the week, Sam saw his opportunity.

They went to the usual place, but on the way back when Sam saw a sign for a motel two miles away, he told Dean to turn left instead of right.

"Huh? But we're supposed to turn-"

"Just do it."

"Who died and made you king?" Dean muttered, but complied. Sam smirked. This was going to be fun.

With glee and cat-like reflexes, Sam leaned over the bench seat, pulled down Dean's zipper, freeing his cock, and sucking it into his mouth.

" _Jesus FUCK,"_ Dean jerked, but didn't pull away. "Sammy, what the _fuck_ are you doing? I'm driving!"

Sam ignored him and proceeded to swallow Dean to the base, until his nose was buried in the curly reddish hair of Dean's pubic bone. He grinned when he felt Dean harden even further inside his mouth.

"Oh fuck fuck fuck," Dean panted. Sam bobbed his head and hollowed his cheeks. "Fuck yeah, _God_."

"Motel," Sam coughed, and went back to sucking Dean's dick.

"Sammy, don't talk with your mouth full."

But Dean got the message and moments later they were pulling into the motel parking lot, Sam pulling his mouth of Dean's cock with a wet pop that nearly had Dean coming in his jeans. "You're going to pay for this," Dean grumbled as he adjusted his hard-on straining against the front of his jeans, trying to will it down before walking in to rent them a room, to no avail. "Dammit." Dean pulled his jacket lower, hoping for the best, and climbed out of the car.

"That's the plan," Sam shouted behind him and laughed at the middle finger Dean threw his way.

With the speed of a long-practiced ritual, Dean had Sam in their room and pinned against the door, attacking his neck like a vampire, or a starving man. He was, he supposed, when he realized how long it had been since they'd last done this.

An animalistic growl escaping his throat, Dean tore off Sam's flannel, buttons flying everywhere, unable to have any sort of barrier between them a second longer. Judging by the way Sam practically ripped his jeans off, he felt the same way.

Sam was on the bed, ass in the air, in record time, Dean fucking him with his fingers. The extra lube they'd used produced a dirty wet sound that went straight to Dean's dick.

"Dean, please, just fuck me," Sam moaned as Dean crooked his fingers and hit the bundle of nerves inside him.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, just get your dick in me already!"

"Bossy, bossy," Dean smirked, smacking Sam's ass and enjoying the moan it produced. "Turn over. Wanna see your face when I'm pounding you into the mattress."

Sam rolled his eyes, but the fond look in his eyes betrayed how happy he really was. He rolled onto his back and spread his legs obscenely, so Dean got a perfect view of Sam's hole, still so tight and pretty pink after all these years. "You ready to fuck me now?"

Normally Dean would take his time and prep Sam longer; he could spend _hours_ with his tongue buried in the haven of Sam's ass cheeks, but tonight was not one of those nights. He _needed_. Without a word, Dean grabbed the base of his dick and guided it into Sam's entrance inch by inch.

Growling, Sam slammed down the last few inches so Dean was completely sheathed in the tight heat of his dreams. " _Fuck me_."

"You asked for it."

Oh, did Dean fuck him. Dean fucked him in every position imaginable, all night long. On the bed, against the wall, in the shower. Neither could get enough of each other.

The next morning Dean woke up to the warmest, wettest heat surrounding him. "Sam?"

Sam pulled his mouth off for second. "Good morning," before he started licking Dean's dick like it was a lollipop.

"Oh fuck, yeah, this is what I call a good morning." Dean threw his head back against the mattress as a moan escaped him. Suddenly the wet heat was gone and pouted. "Sammy, where you goi—holy shit!" Sam had stopped sucking his cock because he was now sitting _on_ Dean's cock. Dean fought the pleasure clouding his brain, he didn't want Sam to hurt himself. "What're you-"

"Relax, I'm still open from all the other times you've fucked me," Sam moaned as he bounced on Dean's cock, angling it so it hit his prostate on every thrust.

"Oh yeah? You a slut for my dick, little brother? Can't get enough of big brother's cock?" Dean grabbed Sam's hips and thrust up, smirking when Sam screamed at the new angle. His eyes fell on Sam's swollen stomach, impossible to miss as Sam rode him hard. He splayed a hand on it, gently caressing it as he snapped his hips up. He did that. _He_ fucked Sam so good he got knocked up. That was _his_ baby growing in Sam's belly. "Mine, Sammy," Dean growled. "My baby in your belly, proof that you're mine, that I fucked you."

"Don't tell me you have a pregnancy fetish," Sam laughed.

"Better get used to it," Dean grinned, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He snapped his hips up, fucking into Sam nice and hard.

" _Aaaaah, ah, yes, yes, yes Deeeeaaaan!"_


	7. Chapter 7

Bleary-eyed and half asleep, Sam shuffled into the kitchen at three in the morning. His growling stomach had woken him up and wouldn't let him fall back asleep. He didn't know _what_ he wanted, he just wanted… something.

A shadow shifted in the corner of his eyes and he jumped and scrambled to flip the light switch. "Mom?"

She startled, almost dropping the knife she was holding. "S-Sam? What are you doing up, Baby?"

He bit his lip and didn't say anything. He was tempted to run, but something smelled _really fucking good_. Apparently she noticed the way he was staring at her sandwich, with a small, inviting smile on her face she asked. "Are you hungry too? I woke up and suddenly had a craving for a grilled cheese. Do you want one?"

Without thinking he realized he was nodding his head, blushing when she outright _beamed_ at him. It was just a frickin' sandwich, why was she so happy? Hesitantly, he saw down at the table

"Do you want anything on it? Salami, roast beef, we have different kinds of cheeses…" Mary asked excitedly, heating up the pan on the stove.

"…p-pickles," Sam murmured.

Mary gasped. "You too? I was _obsessed_ with pickles when I was pregnant with you, couldn't get enough of them."

It started quietly, so quiet he didn't notice it at first. He found himself inexplicably relaxing, and he realized: she was humming. It was a vaguely familiar tune… Hey Jude, maybe? Huh. _So this is what her humming sounds like_ , Sam thought to himself. He remembered Dean mentioning it was one of his favorite memories of her, humming to herself as she danced around the kitchen while dinner cooked.

He could see why.

Some part of him, deep down inside his very soul, _calmed_ just hearing it; he couldn't help but close his eyes and savor it. He almost jumped when she set his plate down in front of him. The smell of melted cheese his nose and his mouth watered. It looked delicious. "T-Thanks."

She smiled and dug into her own sandwich. Sam took a bite of his and almost moaned. It was the best thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life, hands down. "Mmmmmmm."

Mary laughed. "You like?"

Sam nodded vigorously.

"You probably just like the pickles," she chuckled.

They ate in a surprisingly comforting silence. Sam scarfed down his grilled cheese in practically seconds, and Mary made him another without him having to say a word. He was halfway through his second when he heard a nervous "Uh, um, Sam?"

Sam looked up from his sandwich. She looked almost… scared. He swallowed in a hurry. "Yeah?"

"I just, I want to say… _I'm sorry_." She sucked in a breath and held it, looking anywhere but at him.

"For what?" Sam asked, confused. What could she _possibly_ have to be sorry for? She was _Mom_.

"It's my fault," She swallowed a lump in her throat. "It's all my fault. Everything. I made the deal with that demon, I let him _into our house_ to do _who knows what to you_. Everything that's happened to you boys, it's my fault. I'm sorry, Sam, I'm so sorry."

She was crying by the end of it, and Sam had no idea what to say. Mostly, he just wanted to comfort her. A bigger part of him was reeling with the revelation. Everyone had secrets. But his mother? His beautiful, perfect mother that he'd spent his entire life loving and wanting nothing more than to make her proud, but never _knowing_ her? She'd _done things_ too?

After several moments of deliberation, Sam decided he needed more answers. He tentatively reached a hand out and let it rest on top of Mary's. "Tell me what happened."

Mary looked up at him between wet lashes, and frankly looked shocked that Sam was still in the room, but squeezed back. "It… it was a long time ago. Your father was hurt, really hurt. And he died. I couldn't live without him, Sam. I couldn't. So… I made a deal. With a yellow-eyed demon. Your father's life, in exchange for uninterrupted access to the house ten years from then. You have to believe me Sam. I had no idea what he'd do to you, _no idea, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_ I just couldn't live without John. I couldn't do it," she hiccupped.

Mary was kind of an ugly crier, Sam was fascinated to learn. And he got it. He really did. A part of him wanted to be angry, he probably should be. The deal she made was the reason he had _demon blood_ pumping through his veins, why the Azazel wanted him in the first, why he died the first time, why Dean went to Hell, why the Apocalypse started… But he just couldn't do it.

He forgave her.

"I think… I think I get why you did it," Sam said quietly. "If I were you, I'd probably have done the same thing. You were young Mom, so young, you couldn't possibly have known."

Mary didn't say anything. She couldn't, with how hard she was sobbing. She leaned into Sam and buried her face in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. _She's so tiny,_ he mused.

His mother wasn't the perfect person John and Dean had made her out to be. She'd made mistakes, and unknowingly caused a lot of pain in his life.

But he loved her.

He loved her.

* * *

"I'm huge," Sam groaned as stood in front of the mirror trying to button his jeans for the tenth time.

"You're not huge," Dean rolled his eyes, "You're eight months, but you look more like six. _But…_ yeah, it may be time to go shopping."

"I don't wanna," Sam whined, giving up on the jeans and flopping down onto the bed.

"You'll be more comfortable… and be able to button your jeans…"

"Nghhhh, _fine_."

Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala and was just about to leave, when Mary came up behind him. "Where ya going?"

"Oh, just going to get some new clothes to fit the, ah, you know…"

"I could come with! You know, if you want," Mary offered, and Sam could see the excitement in her eyes.

"Who not? Dean hates shopping, he wouldn't be any help," Sam smiled and Mary beamed.

* * *

They had a lot in common, Sam realized.

They both loved books, were conflicted about hunting, obsessed with pickles when pregnant, and had a temper when provoked.

"You should have _seen_ her go _off_ on the checkout lady that made a comment about me being pregnant at my age," Sam laughed wholeheartedly. "She looked like she was gonna piss herself!"

"Sounds awesome," Dean grinned and pulled Sam in closer, causing him to drop the mountain of bags on his arms. "Did you find some good stuff?"

"Mmmmhmmm. Found some really nice maternity jeans for pretty cheap. And…"

"Yeah?"

"I got some stuff for the baby too…"

"Shit, I hadn't even though of that!"

"Me either," Sam chuckled, "Until Mom practically dragged me into a baby store. I hadn't realized babies needed so. Much. Shit. Did you know there are a _million_ brands of diapers?"

* * *

"Finally," Toni breathed, "We're ready."

Brandon, her right hand man, grinned. "We have _five hundred_ men locked and loaded to storm their Bunker, Ma'am."

"We'll get him… and that child he's carrying."


	8. Chapter 8

**Final Chapter y'all! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Two Weeks Later**

"Dean!"

"Mmmmm," Dean mumbled in his sleep.

"Wake up! I'm going into labor."

"Nnnnnnnn," Dean groaned. "Can't it wait til, you know, _morning_?"

"You want me to have this baby on your memory foam mattress?" Sam deadpanned.

"I'm getting up."

"I thought so."

"I'll get the get car ready." Dean grabbed the hospital bags, feeling the panic setting in, and ran out of the room.

Sam shook his head fondly to himself, and groaned as the next contraction hit. Sweat dripped down his face and practically soaked his back. He was hot, so hot. "Aaaaaaaah." What was taking Dean so long? _Fuck,_ it was hot.

Unnaturally hot.

Was the heat on?

He heard a thump. "Dean? That you?" No answer. Sighing heavily, he lifted his ample stomach off the bed and got to his feet. He _walked_ out the door (he did _not_ waddle, thank you very much, no matter what Dean said) with the intention of meeting Dean out the car, he must be waiting for him there.

He was met with a wall of fire.

* * *

Dean set the hospital bags in the trunk, doing his best to keep the panic at bay. Wasn't this a little early? Sam was barely past eight months. Was the Baby okay? Oh god, they were about to meet their Baby.

Dean turned, intending to go back in the Bunker and retrieve Sam so they could be on their way to the hospital—

The Bunker was on fire.

He'd left the door open for time's sake, and he could see flames billowing out from the entrance. In spite of himself, he froze. _Not again. He was going to lose someone he loved, a home he loved, to the fire again._

"Dean! What's going on?" Mary came running up behind Dean with panic written clear on her face. "I heard you come out here and figured the Baby was coming, followed you out here, and I was walking off some of the excitement… Where's Sam?" She turned, saw the fire, and gasped.

"He's in there. Sam! SAAAAM!" Dean shouted, running for the door to the Bunker, but Mary held him back.

"You can't go in there!"

"But Sam's in there, I need to get to Sam, Sam-"

A whirring sound grew louder, and louder, the sound of several helicopters, until it was right over them and suddenly men dressed in black were dropping from the sky, guns aimed directly at them. There had to be _hundreds_ of them.

"Don't move, or I'll blow your brains out," the closest one sneered.

Dean growled, but his hands up in the air in a clear sign of surrender, Mary doing the same. Every fiber of his being ached to run into the Bunker, but he couldn't save Sam if he was dead.

* * *

"Hello hello, Sam" Toni Bevell smirked as she strolled into the bedroom like she owned it.

"You," Sam snarled. "I should have known it was you."

"I'll be taking that Baby now, Sam. Before you use it as another excuse to destroy the world."

"Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged."

* * *

"Dean? Who are these people?" Mary asked, body tense and ready for a fight, but still holding up her hands in a sign of submission.

"Men of Letter, British Chapter. The douchiest chapter," Dean sneered.

"We'll see how smartass you are when you have a bullet in you," the same goon grinned maliciously.

Dean spat in his face.

The goon fired his gun—

And then everything went dark.

"Go away," a familiar voice commanded. In the blink of an eye, the Men of Letters goons were gone, and standing before them was Amara.

"Hello Dean, it's been a while."

* * *

Toni brandished her knife as flames surrounded them—

Suddenly the heat was gone, Toni was gone, and only Chuck was left.

"Hi Sam."

"Chuck?" Sam's eyes widened. "You're back?"

"Yup! Just in time to meet that little one there." Chuck pointed at Sam's belly, and suddenly Sam was brutally reminded that he was very, very much in labor.

"Oh _shiiiit_." Sam groaned and lowered himself down to the floor. Whatever God magic he'd used, the place looked untouched, like it had never been on fire at all. "Where's… where'd they…"

"I sent them away, into the empty," Chuck waved his hand dismissively. "Amara did the same with the rest of them."

"Amara? She's here too?" Another contraction hit and he fought the urge to scream. Shit, this was moving faster than he expected. He wanted Dean, needed Dean, and was just about to ask Chuck to get him—

"Saaaaam! SAAAAAM!" Dean shouted from the hall and Sam nearly cried with relief.

"Over here. I'm fine, Dean, I'm fine," Sam yelled back. Within seconds Dean was there, holding him, kissing him all over his face and neck and checking for injuries.

"Oh thank God, thank God you're okay," Dean babbled.

"You're welcome," Chuck grinned, and Dean jumped, not having noticed another person in the room.

"H-Hi Chuck, I see you're back too."

"Oh yeah, the vacation was nice, but you know-"

" _Guys this Baby is coming right now!"_ Sam shouted. The urge to push overwhelmed him, so he did, not really having a choice in the matter.

"Shit, we gotta get you to the hospital," Dean panicked.

"It's fine, I got this." Chuck stepped forward and kneeled between Sam's legs. "Oh yup. Gimme another push, Sam."

"Are-are you sure about this?" Dean asked.

"Is _God himself_ delivering our Baby, Dean?" Sam groaned, squeezing Dean's hand hard enough Dean wouldn't be surprised if he wound up with at least a sprain.

"Looks like it, yup."

"Oh my gooood," Sam moaned, and it had nothing to do with the pain.

"Another hard push Sam, almost there."

Sam screamed, and the pain was so intense he wanted to die, but then—

The most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

* * *

Maria Celeste Winchester was born on May 6, at 3:07 in the morning.

She had a full head of chestnut colored hair, a set of powerful lungs, bright rosy cheeks, and kaleidoscope eyes just like Sam's.

She was perfect.

"Oh yeah, this is some of my best work," Chuck laughed, making funny faces at the newborn infant as she slept on in his arms.

"May I?" Amara came up to Sam's bedside, seemingly out of nowhere, causing him to startle.

Sam was still a little creeped out by her, but she seemed earnest enough, and if Chuck vouched for her… "Um… sure?"

Chuck handed Maria over to Amara after showing her how to probably hold a baby. Maria yawned quietly, sucking her tiny little fist in her mouth, and the smile that bloomed on Amara's face was nothing short of human. "Brother I want one."

Chuck nearly choked on his coffee.

* * *

Life was, well, perfect.

Maria was a happy, spoiled baby, only content when held in someone's arms, not that anyone every really complied. Daddy Sam fed her bottles and Daddy Dean woke up at four in the morning to sing her back to sleep every night. Gramma Mary was always there to lend a hand. Uncle Chuck and Aunt Amara were always happy to babysit.

Sam had never been happier.

Mary bounced the now six month-old in her lap, playing peek-a-boo and laughing at the baby's toothless smiles. She wore little baby jeans and a tee shirt that said _Cutest Little Bean_ , something that Sam and Dean would sometimes call her when she was still in his tummy, courtesy of Uncle Chuck.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" Sam grinned, watching the two of them.

"I think it's time for me to go," Mary said, smile never breaking as she continued to play peek-a-boo.

Sam's smile, however, slipped. "W-What?"

"I can't stay here forever. I can't leave your father alone like that. I remember what it was like being there without him, and… I can't do that to him. I can't leave him alone. You know that."

"But, but, Mom, we _need_ you." Sam's eyes started to fill with tears at the very thought of losing his mom, _again_ , and blinked them away.

Mary shook her head sadly. "I love you boys more than anything, but you know you don't need me anymore. I taught you how get blood stains out of white shirts, you'll be fine without me."

That night, after kissing her granddaughter and her sons goodbye on the forehead, with one last _I love you, I'll always be watching over you_ , she went into the light.

* * *

Maria was one year old and the world was still turning, despite the fact the Winchesters hadn't been hunting in almost two years.

And yet…

"There's been some omens in Ohio," Dean said nonchalantly. "Could be nothing… could be something big."

Sam grinned. "You thinkin'…?"

Dean grinned back, leaning up to kiss Sam on the lips. "I'm thinking we got work to do."

With a carseat in the back, the Impala rode again.

* * *

 **Pleeeease leave a review on your way out, I would LOVE to know what y'all thought of it! Thanks for reading!**


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